Summertime
by CalliopeMused
Summary: Trisana Chandler is tired of hot nights, but called breezes bring images she would rather not see. "Sensible Tris" knows that something needs to be changed. TrisBriar
1. Summertime

_Tamora Pierce owns the stories and characters that created this. I own several exorbitantly priced textbooks._

**Summertime**  
She hated summertime.

The humid, muggy days that persuaded her hair to frizz were bad enough, but the nights were worse. Closing her window wasn't worth the comfort it could bring to one sense. Summers were bad enough, even when Sandry had woven her a nightdress of airy material that could cover wrists and ankles without making the wearer feel like a roasting potato. She sat in a chair by her bed, book lying forgotten in her lap as she stared out her window.

She could call a breeze to cool herself, of course. Trisana Chandler was nothing if not practical. "Sensible Tris," Briar had dubbed her that very afternoon when she had been the one to remember lunch. Of course she had remembered lunch- it was expected of her, it was past time, and she had been hungry. She scowled at the muggy air in her room. She could call a breeze, but she could scry on the wind. She could be the sensible girl who cooled her room- but she already had routed breezes for her friends.

Sandry had made her most modest friend a nightdress. Daja had created new spectacle frames that wouldn't pinch her nose, in her favorite colors. Briar had found that her favorite flowers were lilacs, but even his coaxing couldn't coax them to linger too long. Everything had a season, he said, and the plants couldn't last forever in bloom- but he had made her a perfume of the flowers, and had let a day go by without his usual blush-inducing commentary when she coaxed a nightly breeze with hints of her power.

They all did small favors for each other, still growing closer after that time they spent apart. Now, they finally were a group again. Tris could guess when Daja could use a breeze stiff with saltwater, when Briar's project needed a little water, or when Sandry could use someone relentlessly blunt to scare off some politician-and-suitor. Their magics were different, special. It would be less effort than fanning herself, to call in a breeze.

She already had aborted her attempt to fold paper into a fan. Daja and Sandry were far more clever with making things. Buying a fan in the market would draw some comment. She was a weather mage. Why would she need a fan? She could call lightning, when she felt the need.

She tugged at the sleeve of her dressing gown, trying to cover a scar on her hand. It was a small mark, paler than even her complexion. She was paler than a fish-belly, as Daja had teased last week. That hadn't mattered, but she didn't need Briar to agree and propose with mock severity that she should spend more time in the sunlight. Just because her other friends didn't break out in pink or freckles… They all knew of her sunburns. It was just another mark to why she was the only person in the group who didn't know a single thing about kissing besides that it happened quite a bit in books, along with things that made her turn pinker than sunburn.

The other three were thin without effort. Just the night before, Sandry had enjoyed just the same amount of the custard desert a new chef had prepared- but Sandry still was elegant and almost exasperated enough to beat away her many suitors with a stick. Sandry loved to tease those who would court her, and had confused an entire court of men who would gain an empress's favor in wooing her. She claimed to not like compliments, but still would take a few. Sandry had a few stories to share with Tris and Daja about who she currently had her eye on.

Tris frowned, still unsure what to think about Daja. Her upbringing as a Chandler was strict, and Daja was everything that a good Chandler should frown on, but Daja was a close friend. The Chandler family had frowned on Tris, but that seemed completely apart from the point. Her frown only settled more firmly remembering Briar's commentary about her family's careful traditions. It should be simple. Daja was happy, even after leaving someone behind, but Tris still wanted to be a Chandler, sometimes.

She put her spectacles back on. She had been cleaning them automatically, rubbing them on the skirt of her nightdress. The Chandler family was not interested in her. She should be past that dull hurt, especially after cousin Emry, but she wasn't. Someday, maybe they would wish that they had understood her, but money still was most important.

Her reflection in the mirror glared at her until she could finally put together the pieces she had been fussing with for weeks. Daja was her friend, and accepted Tris just as she was. It was past time Tris could do the same. There. Problem solved, one sleepless night put to good use... and she still had more on her mind.

It was too hot to sleep. In wintertime, it was easier. She could close her window and door, put more wood on the fire, and wrap herself in blankets. She could make snide comments about her built-in insulation, make snow perfect for sledding, and have fewer occasions to walk outside in breezes. Summertime brought picnics and outings and trips to the beach where she was not about to pull at her skirts to wade ankle-deep in the water. She was awkward enough before falling into the ocean. Instead, she would read and hope that there wouldn't be too many visions in the wind to distract her from the story.

Summertime brought the stifling nights where closing a window just might draw her friends' attention. Then, they would know that she had found some image that she had not wished to see, and Daja and Sandry would make it clear that Tris could talk to them any time. Briar would offer to listen, and make the usual comment that it was better to share such memories. Just because he saw a war, he was the perfect choice to advise Tris on every matter- and she couldn't tell him. She wouldn't tell Daja or Sandry, because they would try to do something about it. She couldn't tell Briar, unless she wanted to die of embarrassment.

Dreams were not the problem, no matter how odd some were becoming. It was what she would see that was no product of her imagination. She finally had an imagination, one provoked by Sandry and Daja's influence after years of thinking only in picturing what books told her. Books couldn't do everything. In stories, the family would always realize that it had erred and would lovingly accept the heroine (or hero) with humble apologies, or the heroine or hero would find some way to replace that unfilled space. Her problem was entirely too real.

It was silly. She couldn't let it control her life, or ruin their group-of-four friendship. If anyone had ever become a pair, she would have thought it would have been someone else. Not her. She drew more fearful looks than anything. She shoved the mirror away. She ran her finger down a braid, an old habit, reassuring herself that all the braids were neat and not beginning to frizz. There was power in the style, and even more likelihood to draw curious looks until people knew just what she could do.

She wasn't just-Tris anymore. She was something more terrifying; she was that-weather mage-Tris. It almost sounded easier to just go back to being the child no one wanted anymore. At least then she didn't have her temper under control. Now, she was Trisana Chandler- one of those mages. Some people knew she could scry on the wind, but she kept that fact quiet. She could not choose what to see and when to see it, as if she were picking up a book. She could direct from the area she wished to see, but wind currents were capricious and never an exact science.

Maybe it would work without drawing in the scenes that she knew would be happening. If it did, she did know how to make scenes in the wind fade. It was more work to erase the visions than to call them, but she could use the mental exercise. She crossly whipped beads of sweat from her forehead. It was too hot to let such things stay between her and the obvious course of action- the sensible thing to do. Forget all the silly delusions that made the wind something to not be welcomed.

She stood at her window, nightdress clinging to her sweat-damp legs. She closed her eyes, knowing that so flimsy a barrier as eyelids wouldn't stop the visions. She raised her arms, from no need of magic, but so that she could feel the wind. She didn't have to use any force. Instead, she released the invisible barricade tangling the winds outside her window and let them move past her, touching her and toying with the few strands of unbraided hair as they cooled her skin and brought her pictures from the night.

_On the docks, a sailor came home and his wife ran to him, with a babe in her arms-_

_A man looked out his window and blew a ring of smoke-_

_A baker started work for the next day, humming a folk song-_

_Two men waited in a dark alley, knives held in large hands, and watched for a likely passerby-_

_The forge-fires glowed bright, and the anvil clanked through yet another late-night project-_

_An alley cat rancid with refuse snarled at a passerby- _

_A midwife called for help as a delivery went wrong-_

_A thief tripped while running from police-_

_A little girl dropped her doll into a slum's overflowing sewer, and wailed when not allowed to retrieve the possession-_

_In the part of the city where respectable people tried not to be seen, a woman nearly marinated in ale approached a man who didn't know just how to approach her-_

_A girl wrapped herself in a sheet as she poured a drink from the pitcher of water in the room, and smiled at the man sleeping in the bed._

She didn't need to see the bronze skin, gleaming dark hair, or the half-open pale green eyes to know just who that man was. She recognized those sheets that she had just laundered (it had been her week), the curtains Sandry had woven, the elaborate metalwork of the shelves across the wall by the window, and that Briar had taken the girl (she should say lady, she knew) to dinner at one of his favorite restaurants earlier that night.

Even if that hadn't been enough, the shelves were covered in shakkans. Tris knew what they were, how much work was involved in maintaining so many, and just how fussy they could be about rainwater. It shouldn't matter. She was cool, now, and could sleep without feeling like a sweat-sticky mess.

She closed her book on her nightstand. There was no need to mark her place when she hadn't started to read. She set her glasses on the book with far more firmness than was required, then arranged herself on top of the covers. The possibility of ever sharing the bed seemed impossible, more distant than reading the future. Some things could not be learned in books, and some differences could never be neutralized.

She didn't know exactly when the troublesome new tangle of emotions had started, but it was most likely that first day that Briar was back after all that time of missing her only male friend. Niko didn't quite count, in her eyes. He was a teacher and a mentor, but she still wasn't sure if he was a friend as well. Tris had reacted as she always had to a friend who needed encouragement- except that she hadn't prepared a meal of favorite foods for Daja or Sandry. Briar's room had been given a current of air first, before she remembered just what she might see. When she had explained, red-faced, he had given her that horrible, horrible smile that made her knees not function correctly and told her that he trusted her- and that the air was worth it.

Daja had only commented that Tris could talk, anytime. Tris didn't want to take her up on that. A sympathetic ear was never bad, but speaking of what she felt would make it real. She had haltingly given that much of a reason before Daja had nodded and accepted that her offer was out in the open. Sandry, of course, was not that subtle. She was in yet another of her overly-noble noble moods (as Tris and Daja dubbed them, when no one could hear), convinced that she could make it right.

Tris had at least stopped her from open intervention. Sandry knew perfectly well what Trisana would rather not discuss, and Tris wouldn't mention it just so Sandry could stop pretending that she was waiting for a clue. Sandry was keeping her possible intervention to the occasional meaningful look or word, perhaps after Daja spoke with her. All Tris knew was that her secret was safe, for the moment.

She didn't know why she had such an illogical infatuation. It couldn't be love, not when she knew so little of anything. She couldn't decipher what she felt through a book. She just knew that she still was the wallflower at the balls Sandrilene fa Toren wrangled invitations to. Briar made a point to save three dances, every time. One for Daja, one for Sandry, one for Tris- and Tris made a point to try not looking completely out of place on the dance floor, with her braids and standing five inches shorter and the fashions that never did look quite as becoming on her. Sandry insisted that Tris was beautiful, not vapidly pretty like the ladies making their high society debut. Daja tried for the harder approach, promising vengeance if anyone made one more derogatory comment about her friend's looks, and she didn't care of the comment came from Tris.

Briar had a repertoire of four comments reserved for friends, two of them variations of a polite phrase involving the word "nice." Tris had forgotten to be nervous the night that Sandry had coaxed her into rich green fabric, when he had bowed just like any other rich gentleman and then, in his courtliest tones, pronounced her 'the most gorgeous bag I've seen tonight.' She remembered his thieves' cant for a rich person, and had smacked him (lightly) on the arm and pronounced him 'an unchanged kid,' using his cant. She had smiled and laughed and joked and felt, for once, completely at ease when she met his light green eyes.

Then, the dance had ended. He had bowed, she had curtsied. She considered asking for an unheard-of second dance when a tall, slender brunette with dark brown eyes had requested his hand. That lady had been wearing warm, warm amber in a shining finish. Briar hadn't paused- or if he had, it had just been Trisana's burgeoning imagination. Whatever it was, she was gone before he was on the dance floor again, fully aware that she was wearing his favorite shade of green and he had called her 'gorgeous,' even if it had been in play.

The breeze comforted her, lulling her closer to sleep. She would meet someone who fit better. Someone who wasn't nervous that she could scry the wind and learn secrets better left unknown (like Briar), who liked her fussy and with a mostly controlled temper (like Briar), and who wasn't known for loving the beautiful girls for just a time before moving on again (not like Briar, not at all).

Her emotions were under control. She could have cried, at how much it hurt to have a dream denied to her for so long- but she did not. That would prove that she wasn't meditating often enough, to find just how to keep such strong feelings under lock and key. If she were to break down and cry, she wouldn't be able to stop. She let her emotions out in bursts, to avoid too much pressure building.

The next morning, it would be better. Briar and the lady in amber had been involved for nearly three weeks, measured partly in a few nights when there was a guest for breakfast the next day. Soon, that brief affair would end. She would again attend parties without being courted, he would be flirting with a new lady by nightfall, and he and the lady in amber would dance again at the next ball, to prove there were no hard feelings.

For the time between a morning flight and nightfall- Tris would be there while Briar moped just a little, in ways that took a close friend to find. She would propose some new idea for his shakkans, or mention some vision on the wind that would make him laugh, all while making lunch and making sure that he wasn't going to do something daft. Then, he'd smile again, and everything would be alright, and there was another girl before the next morning.

That was all that she did. She was the girl who lived in the same house, who shared the same nightly breeze, who wanted nothing more than to scream and yell and let everyone know that _she, _Trisana Chandler, was the only woman who had kept Briar from ever having a fully bad day. She cared about him, and not as just someone handsome who would do as a companion for a night or twenty. She just might love him- so there, she had thought it. Tris might just love Briar, if he would ever pay attention to just what she offered.

When the news came in an afternoon that the brief dalliance was over, and it was too early for dinner and past lunch, she was the one to find fresh olives and draw him into talking while she kneaded what would be warm, fresh bread at dinner. Dinner would be roasted chicken stuffed with dried fruits, when he really needed something to cheer him. Lunch could be cheese pastries shaped like shakkan pots, a small twist on his old favorite. She would go to the market to buy leeks to cook with eggs, or the more exotic ingredients that went into his new favorite dishes. Helene (who had looked breathtaking in amber, to hear Briar tell it) wouldn't know that he could converse with the plants that lined his east wall, where the shakkans liked the sunrise best of all.

She slept, and didn't remember her dreams in the morning. She woke with trails of salt on her cheeks, quickly purged with a washrag and cool water. She arbitrarily chose one of the dresses she wore when she had nothing special to do, pretending not to notice that she had set the ones with green and brown in their patterns at the front. She adjusted the spectacles that fit her face, not caring that they fit perfectly and were the lightest pair she had ever owned. Was it a coincidence that Briar never had flirted with a girl in spectacles?

She made her way to the kitchen, with her best storm-face set. She didn't want to talk to anyone, and her housemates knew that when she did not wish to speak, she would make it known when the don't-talk time was over. One benefit of having difficult powers was that she could dictate just when she would be left alone. The only disadvantage was that sometimes she wasn't the only one to rise before the household staff. The housekeeper Daja hired had long ago resigned herself to Tris cooking, cleaning, and rising early. Tris was used to being alone, and not at all resigned to finding women she did not know in her kitchen.

Tris almost turned around and left, but Helene had already seen her. She wasn't about to change her routine now that the woman could notice. Instead of retreating, she did the next best thing. Helene obviously was looking through the kitchen. Tris didn't offer to help. Instead, she deftly filled her teapot with water from the recessed cupboard's pitcher, set it near the embers of the fire, found a cup, and counted a mix of tea leaves into her cup as the water heated. Helene still was looking for something when the water was just hot enough. Tris took a book from the small shelf in the kitchen, poured the hot water into her cup, and set the tea on the table to steep while she found the honey. She liked some sweet in her tea. It was no use to cut back in what she liked eating. Some people just wouldn't be stared at by every man in the room.

She hadn't even bothered to open her book. Instead, she sipped her tea and felt it burn her mouth, leaving raw places that would taste nothing. Without so much as glancing at Helene, she called a breeze to cool her tea. She didn't have to be afraid of images the wind could show her. How much more could it hurt? The air brought only a flurry of images with no one she knew, just scenes from a morning.

Briar knew she could scry the wind. Whatever she saw, she was not spying. She was seeing unavoidable glimpses of whatever he chose to do by night, and that was no problem of hers. She would not spend another uncomfortable night because she loved him and he was too dense or too logical or too smart to figure out just how that would change their friendship.

Helene still was in the kitchen. Like always, Trisana's surliness would not allow her to ignore a guest forever. She made her presence obvious, hands on her hips even as she looked a little friendlier. She would provide a drink, that was it. Then, Helene of the amber dress could get herself home while avoiding city gossips, and Tris could resume everyday business. "Would you like something to drink?" Tris asked politely in her iciest tone. She didn't like anyone who shared Briar's room. It was part of being petty, she assumed.

"Do you still have pomegranate juice?"

"We usually do. It's his favorite, when he's not making coffee that could dissolve metal." Tris found a pitcher the housekeeper had just put away yesterday, then set a cup beside it. "I wouldn't recommend bringing him any. At this time of the morning, you'd be lucky to get him to blink." A moment later, Tris realized that Helene would know that very well, and scowled before she could blush.

"Thank you."

There wasn't even anything she could pick at in the simple statement. Tris disliked her just for making animosity unwarranted. She didn't reply. Instead, she went back to her tea and propped her book open to a page near the middle of the book. Maybe if she turned a few pages, Helene would get the message and leave.

"You were dancing with him, before I cut in," Helene said, and the look in her eyes was far too intent to make Tris comfortable with that line of conversation.

"I was." And she wasn't surprised that he hadn't waited a moment after their one token dance to go off with Helene in her shine-finished amber. Nobody that carried more than two ounces of fat could look good in that fabric. That led to several other similarly unhappy thoughts, but Tris still had an audience at their end. Obviously, Helene wasn't going to leave.

"He mentioned that you are one of his house-mates, but I didn't see him dancing with Ladies Daja or Sandry."

"You arrived late," Tris said in clipped tones. She had noticed the delayed entry- and was almost certain that Briar had, too, even if he had been polite enough to keep his eyes on his current dance partner. "He saves a dance for each of us. He is a gentleman." If Helene showed one ounce of pity, Tris would scare her off. Briar would forgive her eventually, and listening to pity was one of few things worse than having Briar disappointed in her.

"He looked after you several times, before you disappeared in the crowd."

Before she had left for a book. Tris didn't care that she had finished only half her tea. She didn't want to hear that from some stranger. She left the cup, saucer, and spoon in the sink. The housekeeper would be surprised, but no one would comment on it. Tris would make sure of it. Just a few angry winds, to show that she was close to losing control. She wouldn't damage anything, of course, but they would know that it was a day to leave her alone. She was prickly, just as bad as the few cacti Briar had started to keep. He said they had spines so that no one could get straight into the good parts inside, like water. In the desert, where they came from, that was more valuable than gold. She hadn't liked her self-chosen adjective nearly as much after that. She was temperamental, not on any list of court beauties, and had less patience than Chime.

She closed herself in her room, but of course that wasn't enough. Within two hours, she heard someone knock. The sound wasn't of flesh meeting wood, which meant there was just one candidate. Only one person Tris knew had metal covering a hand. "I'm trying to meditate, Daja," Tris snapped, not caring that it was a lie.

"And it's not working," Daja said, unperturbed. "You locked the door. If you would like your lock to function again, you might not want to let me at it."

"Since when are you counselor?" Tris demanded, angry when she hurt.

"Since you have been more withdrawn than usual since Briar started taking that twit in the tight shiny dress home," Daja said frankly. She was the only member of the circle who could be blunter than Tris, when needed, and she could be thick-skinned if she needed to. Tris would only strike out like that when really hurt.

Tris opened the door. She didn't care that her cheeks were blotchy, as they always were when she cried. Sandry could keep her complexion even, but Sandrilene was a noble. Nobilities probably learned those tricks from the cradle, and Tris was thoroughly merchant class.

Daja let herself in, then closed the door behind her. She locked it without any damage. There were advantages to being a smith-mage that still were in effect outside the forge. "Unless you haven't told us something, I can only think of one topic that would make you this sore for this long. Boys."

Tris nodded, a little. "It's about a boy, yes."

"We don't need to pick one," Daja said, even if she had a guess. That would just make Tris embarrassed. "All we need to do is decide just why you haven't spoken to this boy, if you let the thought of him bother you for as long as this Helene woman has been staying. This morning, the housekeeper found a cup of yours in the sink, unwashed, and debated for a solid hour before telling me. She's worried about you, and come to like working for a person who takes care of everyone else."

"It wouldn't work, Daja," Tris said. "You know how it goes- everything is right except just one crucial thing." She couldn't be any more specific. It didn't matter if she hurt, she didn't need to bring back old pains for Daja. "We don't fit."

Daja smiled, a touch wryly. "By whose standards? I think I'm an expert at not fulfilling the expected norm."

Tris would have smiled, but the sight of lilac perfume on her side table was enough to suppress that impulse. "I'll talk to you about him another day. I really could use the meditation."

"I'll meditate with you," Daja said easily. "We haven't done that in too long, not that we ever were the closest pair. Besides, when a merchant and a Trader can get along, you and your mystery beau have all the chances in the world."

Tris agreed, and finally had enough focus to concentrate on everything but Briar. She opened her eyes, after what could have been hours, and it was still morning.

She couldn't tell Briar. Sandry would just try to fix it. But maybe, just maybe... Daja knew about keeping confidences without pushing for results.

"Daja?" she asked shyly. "Would you like to hear about him?"

"Anything you'll tell me."

Tris took a deep breath. Trusting people was a first step. She would always have a temper, she would always be somewhat impatient. That didn't mean she always had to keep everything to herself- it never worked, in books.

"He- well, he lives here, actually."

Daja's jaw dropped before she could respond. "You- Tris, I thought it was that horrible merchant down the road with the bad hair! But you and Briar! I thought so, when we were with the empress, but couldn't tell."

"The greasy man with the bald spot?" Tris demanded. "Daja, we need to talk more often. It's Briar," she said, and saying it out loud made it seem just a little more real. Someday- and someday soon, if Daja made her usual suggestions that would stay just between them- maybe she would have enough courage to suggest that much to Briar. Until then, it was past time that she could say such a thing out loud.

She smiled, the first time in days. She might have a chance. The pretty delicate flowers came and went, Briar had said once. It was the stubborn weeds that stay, some stubborn and pretty enough that it wasn't worth it to do anything but enjoy them. Besides. Helene had said that he looked for her, after the dance. Maybe she should have stayed, but Helene had given her enough to hope.

"It's Briar." He loved the color green, and Sandry had promised her a new dress for the dance in two weeks in the dark, dark green shade that Tris had liked. It was summer, after all, and there was yet another garden party. If she took a seat near the garden, and Briar came to persuade her to join the party- maybe that would be something. In the warm air, she might need to find some convenient current that he just might want to share. She smiled again, and she and Daja began to plan and discuss the very likely possibility of conspiring with Sandry.

She loved summertime.


	2. Autumn

_This was meant to be a one-shot, but several people made it their business to change my mind. (Thanks, by the way.) There aren't that many stories out there about this couple, and maybe that should change. Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, and to anyone who might drop a line this time around. I still don't own the characters._

**Autumn**  
"You didn't ask him." Daja didn't bother making the statement sound like a question. Her housemate had at least paused at the end of the dance, this time, but then had excused herself. Daja was beginning to think that she should just accidentally cause a few irreparable problems with the lock on Briar's door after convincing Tris to go help with his shakkans. It would be almost impossible to keep a strong weather mage inside of a room, let alone confining a green mage behind a wooden door, but it had to be easier than watching this. Tris had been so sure of herself before she actually had been on the dance floor.

"No, I didn't."

Tris didn't even get indignant or angry at the once-question any longer. Daja had kept the matter clandestine so far, but it was only a matter of time before Sandry found out. "You know that Sandrilene is going to find out, scold you for not telling her sooner, and come up with a few more direct plans than relying on you to actually do something about this," Daja said politely, even as she stopped one of the waiters with a nod. She took two glasses, produced an unexpected tip, and smiled at his shocked reaction. He didn't know that she was a smith-mage, and he didn't care.

"You know I don't like alcohol, Daja," Tris said crossly.

"I also know that you're wearing that shade of chocolate-brown that Sandry has been dying to get you in, and that apple cordial won't leave completely horrible marks. Sandry can fix those without any problem at all, but until you'd beaten your way through the pack for some magic-aided costuming experts, you would just look a bit damp."

"I'm sorry, I really am, but- it's hard."

"I know, Tris- well, I suppose it's much the same. I just had an easier time with getting started, that's all. It didn't help that there wasn't much thinking it all over first."

"What's it like, really?" Tris asked.

"What's what like?" Daja asked. "Pronouns are marvelous when they have antecedents, Ms. Grammar."

"So I'm distracted," Tris said airily. "You would not believe what's going on in the kitchen- don't try the crab patties. They aren't supposed to have that dark sauce on them."

"Tris." If Tris didn't ask, then she really wanted to know. Daja was used to evasive behavior by now, even if Tris was one of the best. She had been dealing with all sorts of evasions, since summer.

"Kissing. What's it like?"

"I don't suppose they would cover that in a book," Daja allowed. "Not that you usually have interesting books, these days- I think half of your books are scholarly. If I don't lock you and Briar in a cupboard, I think I'll end up with another Niko around."

"You wouldn't!" Tris protested.

"Of course not. I don't want to know what would happen in there," Daja said easily. "As for kissing- it's nice, but I think you might want to ask Briar that."

"As if he'd want to share," she grumbled, tugging at her sleeve. She was fully aware that she didn't fit the profile of the kind of lady he would share such a thing with. "Helene said he was looking at me, but I've never caught him. He's just caught me, and he probably thinks I just was scrying what little wind there is around formal occasions."

"Tris, our Briar is a thief. If he's stealing glances, you're not going to catch him."

"That's not a very good pun- and he was caught stealing. Three times."

Daja didn't comment how easily Tris remembered small facts about Briar. "Four, if you ask me. I think it counts as being properly caught, the way you bullied the kid into reading. I don't think Sandry could have managed that, to tell you the truth. He needed someone properly bullheaded to keep him interested in that."

"His attention span hasn't improved."

"Don't save the testy remarks for me. Do something about it, Trisana Chandler. If merchants want something done, they don't sit in port and wait for some Trader to sell it to them. They send their own ship out, don't they? We'll leave out the part where the Traders cleverly outmaneuver them. Your family's idiotic, with how they treat their own."

Tris smiled. "You have some way with words, Daja."

"I know." Daja looked back at the dance floor, and decided that maybe she wouldn't mention a certain pair of green eyes focused solidly on Tris. The instant Tris moved, the motion of her hair would let him know, and he would be looking elsewhere. There were limits to just how much Daja would interfere, but those were wearing thin.

"Tris, I am sorry, but this is the deadline," Daja said. "What you agreed to last month, as I recall."

Tris knew what she was talking about. "We didn't mean that. We didn't."

"I did, Tris." There was no use thinking of undoing it. "I already did it, Tris."

Tris could see the confrontation coming. It was a pity confrontations usually didn't approach in a new tint of cerulean with thunder in their frowns. They were much easier to spot when they came dressed in bright colors. "Did we really have to tell Sandry?"

Daja knew she should feel a little worse for breaking a confidence, but this sort of secret was meant to involve all of them. "Yes." _Now that we're all on the same page, would anyone like to offer opening remarks? _she asked, knowing that both Sandry and Tris could hear her. Briar had withdrawn slightly from mental bonds, claiming that it wasn't right for a guy to hear girls thinking. Perhaps it was for the better.

_I cannot believe I just heard this from across the room! _Sandry fumed. _Trisana Chandler, I have been hinting that you can talk to me for months! But do you talk to me? No. _

_You would have made her do something by now, _Daja explained. _I've been a bit more lax, since this is a different case. They're not strangers with the sudden spark. They've known each other for years, and she doesn't want to risk that. What's taken up the last few months is the I-want-to-but-I-shouldn't nonsense._

_Thanks for that, Daja, _Tris grumbled. _Just what I need- someone who does meddle. Sorry, Sandry, but you're a bit more direct than telling me to ask him to give me a second dance. _

_If you don't, I will. _

Tris shook her head, knowing perfectly well that Sandry was more than capable of such open warfare. _Please don't, Sandry. _

_You just had to be polite, didn't you? I'd almost feel bad, now, _Sandry said. Tris knew her too well to buy the somber look as fact. Sandry was up to mischief and they both knew it.

_Sandrilene, let her fret the problem to death, _Daja said. _She's been teasing the poor thing long enough that even she is going to lose patience with this waiting. Is the friendship you have now with Briar going to make you happy, Tris?_

_It should be enough. It should. But it isn't, and I don't know how to fix that. _Tris knew you couldn't learn these things from books.

_Ask him, _Sandry said. _He's been sneaking looks at you all night, then looking away so fast he's going to hurt his neck whenever he sees your hair move. He's crafty, but I'm used to living with him. _

_So am I, and I never see him!_

_That's because he means it when he calls you Coppercurls, Tris, _Daja said, pulling one of the mentioned locks of hair for emphasis. It sprang back, looking just as offended as Trisana. _I've seen him watching, too. That hair of yours is more of a warning than he needs. _

_Ask him, _Sandry suggested.

_Now? He's dancing with someone else! _

_Ladies cut in all the time, _Daja argued. _It's better than asking him when you're done. Just cut in, 'may I have this dance,' and there you go. Sandry and I will watch him, and we'll tell you our professional opinion. We'll even talk you through it. _

_If you do not, _Sandrilene fa Toren said evenly, _I will make sure that you have dancing partners for the rest of the night. I could use a good way to get rid of several admirers. _

_Sandry-_

_Ask him, _she cut in, unperturbed. Tris knew there was no use appealing when Sandry had her mulish-noble face on.

_Daja, you can't possibly think that- _

_The music's changing, Tris. This is your new song. I know you like this composer, and it's a strings concerto. It's the tempo you like, even. Go on._

Tris did, with voices still keeping up a stream of chatter. _That's it, _Sandry said, sounding relieved to leave the stuffy-noble persona behind. _Watch out for that couple- the lady in citrine should be easy to spot._

_She should be fined, that's what she should be, _Daja corrected. _Tris, don't look like you're attending your own execution. Try your purposeful glare. You know, the one that terrorizes the maids. _

_Daja!_

_It's true, _Sandry said apologetically. _Now, go. Briar ask dance now, thank you. _

Too soon, she was there. Briar's dancing partner was actually moving away. _Perfect timing! _

_Shut up, _Tris said firmly, cutting off Sandry's triumph. She should have known that Daja would keep a promise, even one that annoying.

"Tris, you're not tired out yet?" Briar asked with a grin.

_Keep working, knees. _"Not just yet," she said, before cutting off something Sandry was saying. _That was too myself, Sandry. Would you and Daja please leave me alone for a few seconds? _"It's a shame to not dance to one of my favorites," she said a little shyly.

"Then we'll dance," Briar said, making an fluid bow. Tris felt completely out of place with her stiff curtsy. "I'd be quite jealous if you'd have asked anyone else," he commented. After so many practices, her arms knew what to expect. Her brain was a little slower to catch up.

"You would?" she asked as the music started.

"Of course. I'd hate to think that you danced with someone just because you like Rimaud's music."

"I didn't know you followed music," she said.

"I don't. You do, though, and I think you've mentioned him twice."

She knew this dance. After the extra months of practice, she could focus on conversation and not step on his feet. She still knew that she was an ungainly dancer, but it was an enjoyable hobby- with Briar.

_You are so far gone there's no way back, _Sandry said. Tris could hear the smile from across the room. _I don't know how I didn't see the signs you're giving off. They're brighter than Chime with indigestion. _

_You leave Chime out of this- and I'm doing fine! _"I- like his music, that's all," she said, aware that the pause had been a bit too long. She wasn't used to talking with other people at the same time.

_We know you are, Tris, _Daja soothed. _Enjoy, by the way- Sandry tipped the conductor, and they're not just playing usual three movements. It's going to be the full work- seven or so, I believe. _

_Eight! _Tris corrected. _Sandry, I am going to come up with some sort of revenge. _

"Sandry and Daja chatting at you?" Briar asked, amused. "You're getting the wrinkle between your eyebrows again. It's not nearly as bad as the thundercloud look you get, but I'm pretty sure that I'm not at fault this time."

"They've decided that I'm suffering from a deficit of girl-talk," Tris said, more or less truthfully. "They want to fix the problem."

"I don't think I can help you, there," he said with a shudder. "All I know about girl-talk is that I want no part of it- and that if you three are blocking me out, it's in my best interest to not hear it."

"It's not that bad," Tris protested. "We talk about- stuff."

_Really specific, _Daja said.

_Shut up, Daja. _

"Stuff?" he asked.

_Great. Now he's interested. _

_Obviously._

_Shut up, Sandry. _

"Stuff," she said emphatically.

"Anything about me?" he asked, entirely mischief and affected innocence.

"Not very often," she said, deciding against an outright lie. "And usually about whose turn it is to deal with your guest." She immediately turned an unflattering shade of red. It didn't matter, if it was true.

"You girls have problems with that?" he asked, as if he'd never thought of that before. He probably hadn't.

She wondered if he knew that he tilted his head to the side, and what it would feel like to fix a wayward few strands of hair- and was careful to keep such thoughts away from anyone who would comment. "Not often," she said, staying with her truthfulness policy. "A few of them just expect anyone female to be a maid, a few just need help navigating the kitchen, and most just get an introduction and basic tour. The tours started when someone tripped over one of Sandry's projects."

Comprehension dawned late. "That rug with the charms in it?"

"The circle-loom experimental rug with the friction charms and streamer pattern in it," Tris confirmed.

"No wonder she was hot under the collar all that week! I thought she was upset that a shakkan put out that yellow pollen that stained the sheets she had out on the line."

_That was _him?

_Sandry, he didn't mean it, _Tris said.

_I'll take care of this- I hope. You keep talking, _Daja said.

"No, but now she is- she decided that we're having a full-on girl-talk, just as a warning. Anything you say is probably going to be heard by Daja and Sandry, and they just might use it against you."

He laughed. "I should have known- it's almost impossible to get one of you alone, these days. You and Daja are off in her forge with Chime, or you were drafted into helping Sandry with her thread, or the three of you are doing something that would burn any contributing plants to ash."

"I called rain last week," she said, trying to think of a time she had been alone with him. It was true that she had bolted after just a few minutes, but she had done perfectly fine in coaxing a few laden clouds down.

"Thanks for that. I didn't have the chance to tell you, after, but that saved the tomatoes out in the garden. I can't imagine what Rosethorn would think, if she came to visit and found sickly tomatoes in need of a good watering."

"I think you do. None of it would be the usual rude Rosethorn we know and fear."

"Did you just- it's about time you told a joke, Coppercurls, you've been out of sorts for awhile now. I thought I was going to have to coax a lilac into sending out just a few flowers out of season. It wouldn't be bad for the plant with enough extra nutrients put in, just tiring."

"You'd do that for me?" she asked.

"Sure. Besides the fact that the chance of rain goes way up if you're feeling down, I much prefer you happy."

"I do, too, actually," she said. She could do this. She could talk to Briar without letting anything slip. "I was feeling a little bad, maybe, but I hope that's all in the past. It was a rough couple months, that's all- you seemed to have good ones, though."

"Why wouldn't I? Best den I've ever lived in, I can tell you that much. Lark is fine, and I love Rosethorn, but I love Rosethorn even more when not constantly with her, you know? A guy can't be pruning all the time, no matter how much her plants like me. With Daja's place, a few chores and I'm set, even if you and the others can be a bit scary. I never knew that Sandry could get on my case about not cleaning right- you've infected us all, Tris."

"I hardly think instilling good cleaning habits is at all comparable to an infection," she said, only pretending to be cross. She did remember how to joke- and with Briar, no less! Maybe she should have agreed to the second dance sooner.

_Told you so._

_Shut up, Daja- and don't even start, Sandrilene fa Toren._

_Why the long name?_

_I can detect your mulish-noble face at two hundred paces with my back turned, Sandry._

Briar laughed. "I'm only up to one hundred fifty- have you had a lot of experience with that?"

"You heard us?"

"Just the last few things, when you were reprimanding Daja. Have those two bleaters been after you the whole time?"

"The whole time," Tris agreed, neglecting to mention that Sandry had joined late. _Briar can hear you, too. Would you please leave us alone now?_

_Fine._

_Yessir._

_Shut up, Daja, _she said again, but she smiled. "I think Sandry bribed the conductor well- Daja said that she paid him to play the entire song."

"Is that why we had time for a conversation?" he asked. "I don't think that's all of it, though. They changed songs a minute or so ago, but you weren't scanning the edge of a floor for a gap to flee through."

"I didn't notice. Daja and Sandry made sure of that." She glared. "And I do not scan the edge of the dance floor."

He rolled his eyes, but he still smiled at her. "Of course, milady, you _never _look like you want to bolt."

"I don't! It's just easiest to leave when some noble is very certain the next dance belongs to her."

"You know that I don't follow which nobles are important- and don't care. If you're not in a hurry to go tearing off, we'll ignore anyone trying to get her neb between us."

"What if you like her neb?"

"I promise, Tris- never will I break up a dance because of some lady's neb."

She wasn't particularly concerned about a lady's nose, and she didn't think that the statement was very funny. "What about the rest of her?" she asked tartly.

_Tris, this is why you're a _saati _to me. It's about time you were the nervy Tris we know and exasperate!_

_Shut up, Daja._

_She's right, Tris. _

Shut up, _Sandry._

_Both of you- go find someone to dance with and leave Tris and me for a bit. We're big kids, and we're doing fine._

_The silent speaks- to what honor, Briar? _Sandry asked.

_Sandry. _

_I'm the honor? How nice._

Briar and Tris rolled their eyes. It was the only natural response. _Shut. Up. _

Tris smiled at moments of Sandry-free thoughts. "Finally- she and Daja are blocking. I'm sure that they're talking about us."

"They're just jealous that we're on our fourth dance, if you count every song- that's how the sky-noses with dance-cards count."

"Fourth?"

"The first, the strings concerto you like, one after that, and this piece, whatever it is."

"It's something else by Rimaud. This is a recent work. I'm pretty sure that I saw him writing this, since he works with his windows open."

"What haven't you seen, Tris?"

She paused, wondering. "Not much," she said finally.

Tris had seen too much, and she recognized the lady moving in quickly. She remembered the breeze that had come near the end of summer, one of the last that hadn't carried leaves in all shades. She had seen a dinner in town, and smiling, and had overheard moments of a conversation about plants. The lady, whose name she hadn't caught, loved flowers and gardens and trees. She was everything that fit with Briar, and her feet were clumsy again in an unfamiliar style of dancing with such a lady watching her.

"Tris, I meant it," he said, when he felt her starting to pull back. Tris wondered if he really did, sometimes- who was she to judge if he could lie well? "You never need to back off because somebody's nosing in."

"My feet are sore," she said, and it was the truth. She left, quickly, and knew exactly which edge of the dancing floor had a clear path to the ladies' powdering room. The room was warm with people, so someone had opened the picture windows. The air carried her images of Briar greeting Lady Lavinia, and she made her way through the crowd, her mind firmly closed to any entreaties from Daja or Sandry. Sometimes, it was better to be alone- but they didn't share her belief, and were there in the powder room.

"He watched you, when you left," Sandry said.

Tris shook her head, and Daja understood.

"He watched, yes. He didn't follow her."


	3. Ice

_The characters are still not mine. I've just stolen them for this story and have no real intention of giving them back to Tamora Pierce._

**Ice**  
Winter didn't matter, to a smith-mage. Her fireplaces started cold, but it took only a little more patience to draw the heat into them until her forge was ready. Daja Kisubo didn't start her planned project for the day. Instead, she rubbed at the living metal that covered a hand, letting the peels of skin that fell land in a bowl. There was no use starting a project if she would be interrupted. Metal heated twice was weaker and more brittle. Letting it cool would make the later project a risk.

"Briar."

"She talks to you, Daja. That's why I'm out here."

"The interruption isn't a problem. I'm still working on the latest design." She didn't tell him that it was for Tris, because Trisana needed something that would make her smile. He might already have guessed. Not many sketches of statues involved lightning. "It's hard to get started. Planning it out and warming down the metal are the hardest part. From there, it all gets easier."

"The hardest part is that she barely ever smiles. Not even the lightning storm a week ago, and I know that she loves lightning."

"Have you considered talking to her?" Daja asked. It took more to bring up her temper, and she wasn't in the mood for being angry. She was missing Rizu, who couldn't imagine a winter like this. It was an old ache, now- another problem that wouldn't be solved.

"She hasn't considered talking to me. Every time I try, she finds an excuse or just looks right through me. She's never done that before. Sure, she's shown off her full-Tris glare that scares all the hired folk- but it's like she doesn't even see people. I don't know how to change this, Daja. Ever since that dance, she's been different."

"She was different before then, Briar," Daja reminded him, gently. "I know that your plants noticed an unusually rainy autumn." He couldn't know just when Tris's careful control had grown gaps, when Tris couldn't talk to him and had blocked him away. She felt nothing when he flinched. Daja wondered if it would always be like that. Cold reached inside, sometimes.

"She left, when she finally didn't run away before I could convince her to stay."

He could have asked her at the beginning of the dance. He could have found her later. Daja stayed with the simplest reason, the one that she had empathy for. "You could have followed her, Briar," she said, and her voice was far, far away, back in Namorn.

"It's not easy to think of that, Daja."

Rizu hadn't. "Maybe it isn't supposed to be," she said. "Briar, don't you see her at all? Tris can scry the wind. She never will tell what she sees, if it's personal- but have you ever wondered just what sort of things that she knows?"

"She knows everything."

"No, she doesn't," Daja said, feeling the beginning of her temper. Maybe she was calm, but thawing always hurt more than being numb. "She asked me what it was like- she asked me what kissing was like! She doesn't think that she's the type of lady you would ever be interested in, and I'm beginning to think that she's right. You never want things to last, Briar!

"What is your record, three and a half weeks? I know that Tris has seen moments of that- she's always too quiet for no good reason. And, after everything, she's still the only one here with patience enough to make sure you land on your feet when the latest lady is gone. How can you live like that?" Daja demanded, not caring that tears were beginning in the edges of her eyes. "How can it always be enough, to know that someone else will come along and do just as well?"

"Daja, I-"

"Don't even say that you were in love, because that makes it worse." She turned away, deliberately, and roughly shrugged his hand away. His calluses were softer in the winter, with only his shakkans to tend. Tris had read to the plants, before, whenever one was stubborn about just how it should grow. She had, before that day in autumn. "Briar, do something. At least break her heart honestly, instead of letting her wonder all the time."

"Don't hide it, if you're crying," he said, and it wasn't what she had expected. Her planned protest made no sense, after that. He held onto her, and she cried again over Rizuka fa Dalach. He stayed with her, when she was done, and she understood the way he eyed her tools. Plant-mages had to be bored, in the wintertime. She wanted to remember something new.

"I'll work you until you get all new calluses," she warned. "Before you can even touch metal, you're going to learn every tool forwards, backwards, and blind. You're not touching scrap iron until you know theory and practice. You'll draw out more gold wire than you ever would have seen as a thief before you get to start creating something complicated, and you had better be at least apprentice-level before you think about touching my kind of metal."

"I learned from Rosethorn, Daja."

"Yeah?" She wasn't impressed. "So be tough. After this, you are going to talk to Tris. I don't care if it's four words a day, you'll say something to her- and you're going to try thinking about how she feels the next time you bring a lady home to bed. I know you like Tris, but you're going to have to work. These things don't come out of nowhere."

"They can, Daja."

"Waiting for one to fall in your lap is something the _Tsaw'ha _would call worse than stupid. Saying the word used is entirely rude, so I'll keep that for a specific circumstance. Do you want to do anything about this?"

"Yes."

She looked him over, critically. "Your arms are going to be like those noodles Sandry tried to make. That will happen within a day, but maybe you can coax Tris into laughing when you can't hold a spoon."

"We'll see, Trader."

"We will, kid."

Daja won. Briar should have known that she wouldn't exaggerate that much, but it didn't help that it was his turn to help with dinner. Daja had helpfully put the heaviest ladle they owned into the soup, and he spilled half of it before Sandry took the lade away and something like a smile started on Tris's face. Just for that, he exaggerated just how weak his arms felt. (He didn't exaggerate much, but no one else needed to know that.)

Tris didn't know what to make of his new hobby, so he told her about it in brief fragments. He explained just what had happened to his eyebrow, he found someone who would help him bandage a burned arm with only a few "funny" remarks, and he knew who could help him find the books Daja ordered him to read in their library. They weren't doing anything that seemed especially dangerous, but something was changing, and the ground was only about as steady beneath his feet as a snowdrift.

He never did know what to make of snowdrifts. There hadn't been snow where he had grown up.

The best day of winter was near then end, when it was just cool enough that snow would keep. Tris called deep drifts of snow perfect for packing, and somehow he had ended up with Tris against Daja and Sandry. He was only occasionally sore from Daja's daily attempts to kill his arms by setting him at hammering something completely flat, and could throw snowballs hard enough to rival Daja. (She cheated in the packing, with a metal hand, but wouldn't admit it.)

That was the day that Daja taught him how to plan his work. He knew how the metals behaved, from a few experiments, and planning was important. Improvisation would be vital, once the metal was hot. Once it began to glow, it couldn't cool down too far or it could break into two. The trick was to warm the metal slow, and not expect it to do too much to begin with. He had to be patient, and guide the metal just like he knew it could react, and work from there. If he rushed, Daja was sending him straight back to scrap metal. She didn't tolerate shoddy work. Neither should he. Plants that grew too quickly wouldn't last, and the prettiest flowers needed coaxing to get their roots strong.

Briar understood, maybe. Now, he just had to begin to learn how to start a relationship- the hard way. It took time- but maybe he would have the winter to begin.

Winter was almost over. Tris was reading the last few pages of a book when someone knocked on her door early one morning. "Can it wait a minute?" she asked loudly, not taking her eyes from the pages.

"How long is the minute going to be?"

She smiled a little. Briar knew how she could get. "I have two and a half pages, Briar."

"I'll wait."

She finished quickly. The book would be there later, if she wanted to make sure she had caught all the details. She found her slippers, pulled her robe on, and stifled a yawn. "Why are you up at such an hour?" she asked as she opened the door. He had his hands cupped together lightly, which wasn't much of a hint. She critically observed sooty hair, a few singed patches in clothes, and a few small burns. "Were you up all night?"

"I just finished. Daja stayed with me, but that was to make sure I didn't burn down her forge. I need a place to put them down- there won't be any mess, but a wide flat space would be good. There hasn't been much testing at all."

"Testing? Them? Briar, what-" Tris scowled. He obviously wasn't going to answer her. Ever since he had started working with Daja in the smithy, things had been a little different. She moved the few books on top of a short wardrobe. "Here. One wide flat space." She didn't understand him at all, now- it was easier to know just where things stood when there had been strangers in his room.

He moved carefully, and set the small creation down. Tris recognized those careful movements- it was the same whenever he moved a seedling. She recognized the glint of copper, the living metal that Daja gathered over time. Her breath came in slowly when she could see just what he had made.

"Spark it," he said.

"Briar, it's-"

"Meant to be touched with a bit of lightning. Go on, Tris- finish it." She braced herself, and sent a small touch of lightning into the statuette of two people with joined hands.

The joined pair began to dance. One had a skirt that twirled about her legs, and the other spun her around carefully before they pulled each other close. "Briar, what are they?" she asked, her voice quiet. It wasn't right, to talk loudly with such things so close. Even Chime was quiet as she watched.

"Daja made muscles for a leg. This was just a little more complicated. I used two seeds to guide them. If a plant knows to grow, then the metal... I don't exactly know how they work, to be honest. I wove the frame with vines. Sandry helped with the skirt, and to keep the details right. Daja helped me with the metal, and the lightning gave it power. I think that they might need a refresher burst later, but we'll find out. I meant for it to be something normal, but I don't think you've ever settled for normal before."

She didn't point out that he was rambling. She had the feeling that he knew, and that was part of what colored his face with embarrassment. "They're beautiful," she said, hugging him before she could consider just how that could be taken.

His arms held her close, and it was just as good as dancing. Why had she been avoiding this? They could have been done with this so long ago. "They should be. I used a portrait of you as a base for the lady, since I couldn't think of anyone else that I would want to dance with next week."

Tris colored pink instantly, but it was the good kind of blushing. "Are you sure?"

"When have I ever had a bad idea?" he asked, and she knew that his smile would be smug.

"Would you like me to just tell the occasions that come to mind, or start from the beginning?" she asked, disparaging effect slightly ruined as she leaned against him. "I know you, Briar. You can't fool me."

"That's the point, Tris. I'm trying something different. Something better." He felt her shift. "Don't you even try denying that, Tris. You know how much havoc I can cause with plants."

"You're threatening a girl who plays with lightning," she said, pulling back to catch the look in his eyes.

"No."

"That wasn't a threat?"

"I'm threatening a lady who could fry me- but won't, because that would make a mess in her nice, clean room."

"I think there might be a few other reasons," she said. That was enough of that for one morning. Afternoon might be a different matter, but she had been watching a cloud front for a solid week. "Thank you, for the dancers."

He smiled, knowing when Tris needed some time to take care of the weather. "Do you think you could arrange some nice weather for next week? If there's no chance of rain, the dance floor will be moved out to the garden."

"I think I can arrange that," she said, with the full smile that he had missed for months. She very politely ejected him from her room as she mentioned seeing him at lunch, but that wasn't important. She needed a little space, and probably always would. Thinking about 'always'- something inside thawed, just a little. He was going to see her at lunch, she was smiling, and he had an idea of what to do. This time, she might not run. But, if she did, he was ready to follow her.


	4. Springtime

_The characters belong to Tamora Pierce, but this little story belongs to me. Thanks to everyone who reviewed- I never expected this story to get so much attention. I am sorry this chapter took so long, but the characters were giving me a few issues. There will be one more chapter._

_I am using canon from _The Will of the Empress

**Springtime**  
_Sandry, he won't do us all a favor and kiss her if you're staring. You're making him nervous, _Daja chided.

_He wasn't nervous with anyone else. _

_That's why we know this is different. I already threatened him about thinking she's the same as everyone else. _

_Should I threaten someone for you? _Sandry asked, regretfully moving away from the dance floor. It was fun to coax a relationship into starting, but once it was there- she wouldn't be seeing as much of Tris or Briar.

_Sandry, I-_

_You can't honestly think that you are one of two. _

_Leave it alone, Sandry._

_Like you left Tris and Briar alone? _Sandry demanded.

Daja repressed the urge to roll her eyes. Sandry meant well. _That was different, Sandry. I don't have a single person in mind- and you're one to talk! Have you even said good evening to the man you keep looking at? _

_Daja!_

_I didn't peek. You projected that loud and clear- it wasn't my fault at all._

_I did not project anything, Daja._

_Sandry, you know that we can't get visuals without projection. The leatherwork on his belt- well, I suppose that's one place to look. _Daja's lips curved into a smile for the first time since Briar had brought Tris out to the floor before the first song even began. _If you ask really nicely, I'm sure he'd let you look. If not, you could just happen to notice that the cuff of his shirt needs a fast mend._

_His shirt doesn't need to be mended, Daja._

_It would if you pulled at a few threads, _Daja remarked innocently._ Oh, cut the gasp, Sandry- you know you want to, _she teased.

_That's part of the problem._

_Why?_

_Well, it doesn't seem very fair._

_Fair? He's going to have the best stitch-witch I've met fix it up afterwards, probably better than it was before, and he gets to talk to you. How does he lose out?_

_This will be all your fault, Daja._

_Unless it works, _Daja countered.

_I'll still give you some of the credit. Now?_

_Wait for him to be distracted, the waiter's coming by with hors d'oeuvres. There's a little flaw in the metal that just might catch his sleeve._

_Daja, you're denting the tray?_

_Already did. Go on, do your magic. I'll fix it afterwards. Now hush and have a good evening. _

Daja smiled as she eased back into her seat. Within ten minutes, Sandry and fixed-shirt guy were dancing. He had watched her stitch-magic without more than surprise- Daja would call his expression fascination. The two had talked while nibbling at finger-food that neither was particularly interesting, and Sandry had finally asked if he wanted to dance. Daja saw the entire scene from two hundred feet away.

"Excuse me, but are you Daja Kisubo?"

"Yes." Daja turned, surprised. "I don't believe that we have met."

"We haven't, actually. My name is Genevieve." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I hope you pardon me, should I be wrong- but there were rumors that you were different."

Daja stood cautiously, not sure what the stranger was implying. "Different how? I am an ambient mage."

"Different enough that you might sometime make your way to the upstairs parlor. There is a dance floor, and the hostess sends up caterers with drinks- the music comes up through the floor."

"If I went up there to dance, would you dance with me?" Daja didn't lower her voice to a whisper. There was nothing to be ashamed of.

"Yes."

Daja passed a careless thought to Sandry. Her friend wouldn't mind a moment's interruption now. _I'll be upstairs, Sandry. _

Briar heard. He wasn't sure if Tris did. She loved waltzes, but a few of the steps still confused her. He recognized that scowl, and knew that it was directed at her own feet. He watched as Daja left with Genevieve. Gen was a sweetheart, and a very fast worker. She had made a few very quiet inquiries, after a few observations of his own. Someone needed to get Daja to lighten up a bit, and she'd been the one telling him that moving forward was the only way out.

_The other bleaters are finally going to leave us alone, _he told Tris. He could have talked out loud, but her mind was even closer. _You're doing great, Tris. Don't worry about that step._

_I am not worrying about that step._

_Then don't fuss at it._

_I want to do it right, Briar._

_Okay, okay- here it comes again. Don't step too far with your left, maybe, and keep on your toes just until you have the move down- no one else can tell with that skirt. Here we go- left cross turn. There, see?_

_You could have done that before, _she said without a trace of venom. She was too pleased that she had finally learned the trick.

_You're too cute when you're irritated with something that isn't me. _

_Whenever I say you're cute, you fuss about it._

_Guys aren't supposed to be cute, Tris._

_Who cares what people are supposed to do? _

She had a point, and he recognized that stubborn look. If he didn't get her to lay off, Sandry and Daja would have even more reason to tease him. _What do I have to do to win an argument with you, Tris? You keep coming up with arguments like that- I'm not supposed to be cute because you are, okay? _Maybe that would work.

_We can't share adjectives? Briar, where is this relationship going if we can't share an adjective?_

She was smiling, but he thought that he had caught a hint of worry. Where were they going? They were going slowly, for one thing. He wasn't going to rush one moment. _We're going right here, _he said, and he kissed her.

She completely forgot the music, and they both forgot the steps of the dance. They just stood there, stationary in the middle of the dance floor, and she couldn't think of a better place to be.


	5. One Summer Morning

_This is the last chapter. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed. The response has been incredible, and persuaded me to turn this into a story instead of a one-shot. I might be back in this fandom- you've given a girl every reason to show up again. _

**One Summer Morning  
**It was late enough in summer that Daja put a dressing gown over her nightdress, but the sun still was shining far too brightly, and before she could pour her morning coffee. Pouring coffee was the plan, at least. Her routine was very simple. When she was awake enough that returning to sleep wasn't an option, she would wake up and shuffle out of bed. If she was cold, she'd find her dressing gown. If she was very cold, she'd get dressed in warmer clothes before making her way to the kitchen.

Tris, who was the grumpiest morning person Daja had ever met, would have made coffee, and would sometimes have pastries in the oven before anyone could think to wake up. They had lost yet another housemaid who couldn't tolerate anyone else messing with the kitchen, so Tris had taken over most meals and the ever-important coffee production.

She reached out for the coffee pot- and it was cold. Daja frowned sleepily. She had an unusually high tolerance for heat. She could pick up coals and red-hot pieces of iron. She knew what cold felt like. It wasn't hot. Just like the coffee pot.

If the ceramic that held the coffee wasn't hot, the coffee wouldn't be hot. She glanced inside. There wasn't even coffee inside. There was the stain from all the other mornings when coffee had been ready. Daja tolerated mornings only with libations of caffeine. She was out of bed before noon; someone could show her that it was for good cause.

Daja looked in the cupboard, but there wasn't any coffee. Coffee was a dark powder that came in a blue canvas sack. There was no metal anywhere near the coffee. If Tris had moved it… Daja looked at the many, many cabinets, cupboards, and shelves in the kitchen. She looked at the empty ceramic pot that Tris usually heated with heat energy that lasted longer than a stove. She looked at the cupboard where the coffee had been. When she realized that she was looking at the cupboards again, she gave up and made her way to Trisana's room.

She rapped on the door. Maybe Tris had been reading, and had been caught up in a good part, and would only be mildly irritated to be interrupted for coffee. Tris was perpetually just a bit grouchy. In the mornings, she was awake and grouchy.

No response.

She knocked harder, and the ajar door opened. It hadn't been latched, which was enough of an invitation. Daja peered inside, squinting against the light. Tris's bed was neat, which wasn't a surprise. Tris always made her bed in the morning, even before she made coffee. Her bed was empty. Her armchair was empty. Chime was sleeping.

She checked the tower, which meant trudging up every last fight of stairs. No Tris. She checked the kitchen again. If Tris had left, she would have put a note on the table.

When Daja was back from checking Tris's room a second time, just in case, she found Sandry standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes closed. After a few moments, Sandry opened the cupboard with the brass handle and found the blue cloth bag.

"You found coffee?" Daja asked.

"Yes." Sandry found a strainer while Daja heated water on the stove. Some in the area just poured powdered coffee into hot water, but no one in the house liked the texture.

Sandry kept the cloth in place. Daja poured the hot water. Between the two of them, they produced one full pot of coffee that only had a few particles of coffee grain. They poured two cups. Sandry found sugar and cream. Daja just took a few sips of her barely-sweetened coffee, not minding the temperature- her heat tolerance came in very useful, sometimes.

"Not as good as Tris does it," she pronounced.

Sandry sipped her own after adding cold cream and several spoonfuls of sugar. She didn't like bitter things. "Tris will have to show us how to make coffee her way," she agreed. "Is she still asleep?"

"She's not in her room." Daja poured herself another cup of coffee. It wasn't the best, but it was enough to make her semi-functional. "Did she mention going anywhere to you? She didn't leave a note, and I saw her cloak in her room."

"I haven't seen her since last night." Sandry stirred her coffee slowly. "She isn't in the tower?"

"No, she isn't. I checked there, too. Little Bear is still snoring on my bed, Chime is sleeping or whatever it is she does, and both Tris's cloak and morning gown are in her room. There would have been thunder and lightning, if anything bad had happened." Daja yawned, getting rid of the last early morning fog. "Little Bear almost always stays in Tris's room."

"I went straight to bed after the ball last night. I barely had time to slip into a nightdress before I collapsed in bed asleep." Sandry frayed a hem on her sleeve, then repaired it with a thought and watched the threads weave back into place. "I think we would know, if something's wrong." She concentrated for a second, and- "She's blocking me," she said indignantly, rubbing the side of her head. "It's a very prickly block, too."

"I don't like this," Daja said. "Last night, Briar was walking her to her room. I put a pillow over my head because the two of them were out there talking for ten minutes and I wanted to go to sleep."

"Could you check if Briar is awake?" Sandry said, already thinking of a new spell. "I'll look for her nightdress."

_Briar, _Daja said quietly- he was partially awake. Good. _Sandry and I-_

_Would you keep your nebs to yourself just for once? _He relented when he felt that she was worried. _Okay, okay- I'm not awake just yet, but I'll try. What's the problem?_

_Tris wasn't in her room this morning- we don't think she was there all night. We checked the tower, and there wasn't a note, and-_

_She's just fine, Daja. _

_She is? Where is she? _Sandry asked, dropping the spell from her mind before it would have any effect.

_I'll tell you later, right? _

Briar was- embarrassed? Daja thought for just a moment, and then felt a rush of heat cover her face. Oh. Well, that explained matters. Sandry was as pink as Daja felt.

_Right, _Daja said. She had recovered first. _Well, um- good morning. _

_Whenever Tris decides to wake up, tell her that she should teach someone else how to make coffee if these late mornings are going to become a habit. _Sandry had recovered better.

_You both are going to have to learn to relax, _Briar grumbled, but they weren't listening. Girls. The two of them were gossiping already, of course- he closed his mind to the both of them on general principle. He only needed one girl in his mind, thank you very much, and she was sleeping.

A stray thought later, an obliging clematis closed the curtains and stopped an unwanted stray sunbeam. He closed his eyes, wrapped a spare arm around her, and all he knew was warmth and the smell of lilac shampoo and a perfect summer morning.


End file.
